A ridiculed night editor for a prestigious newspaper.
An overburdened nuclear engineer.
A female fighter pilot.
A religiously impassioned young reporter.
A sergeant major thrust into the responsibilities of a secretive command.
Moving from a newsroom in the American capital to a cockpit over Afghanistan, from an Iranian cemetery to a military intelligence office in suburban Washington, The Room and The Chair by Lorraine Adams—award-winning author of Harbor —is an unforgettable, groundbreaking novel about the often overlooked actors in today’s dangerous world.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Room and the Chair|
|Release Date: 02-09-2010|
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|Parent title||The Room and the Chair|
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The Room and the Chair
She heard the air. It sounded like her Mustang on the Interstate. She’d push its tat engine hard for the on-ramp. Dash would vibrate. She’d check mirrors. Trucks were there, scaring her sideways to the shoulder. She’d strain up to speed in the slow lane, flip the blinker to join the faster ones, relax into the drive, and only then would she realize the radio was a ruffle of lost words because the windshield was whistling on high. Air that loud was normal on the ground. Here in the cockpit, it was a sign.
Solar bands, raw dawn beauty, were hours away. Clouds blocked stars. Moon was gone. As for her visor, its night vision just fine on the ground, it’d frizzed out. Green light had gloomed to black. This night, Mary had no horizon.
She checked the head-up display. It said she was at thirty-five thousand feet with her nose tilted two degrees down. So what was the noise?
She toggled up attitude detection. She was pointed to ground at seven hundred miles per hour.
They couldn’t both be right. She moved the stick.
Head-up stayed; attitude changed. She was an arrow straight for earth at the speed reserved for sound.
Her forgetting hands went to the grips to eject.
Some checklist came in time to save her. Gloves: she took them off. Helmet. Second was the helmet. Wait. Should she take her helmet off? She strained. Helmet was on, wasn’t it? No. Hadn’t somebody got a face sheered because the helmet was on? Off, would something she’d forgotten to batten blind her? Faceless or blind. Faceless or blind? Blind. Helmet stayed. She pulled out the oxygen, held on to her breath. Store it, store it. Into the compartment ...